


Spider Silk

by Aldariel



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, Dunmer - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Morrowind - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 19:43:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12349377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aldariel/pseuds/Aldariel
Summary: ‘I was born on the 13th of Frostfall - the day which is sacred for all witches and spiders’.





	1. Love and Land

Viriya, a scrawny girl of thirteen, so dirty-faced that it’s hard to tell whether she is a Dark Elf or their Valenwood cousin, earns her daily bread (more often mouldy than not) in the same manner as many of her fellow Anvil rats do, by digging out and robbing rich graves - and selling her loot to one of the Guild fences.

One day near the docks Viriya meets the most beautiful person she has ever laid eyes upon: she has radiant golden skin, firm, shapely breasts not hidden by her riding leathers...

When the woman dismounts, Viriya steals her purse.

 

***

 

In the dimness of tavern lights - and through an alcoholic haze - Viriya looks at her would-be lover and cannot pick out his race; the mer’s softer features which clearly betray mixed blood do not help her either.

It doesn’t matter though, for the mer is unequivocally beautiful: full lips and dark lustrous hair, a proud, chiselled nose, graceful hands...

When Viriya lies in the pool of their mixing blood, desperately trying to heal the wound left by his poisoned blade, one thing she knows for sure: the cooling corpse to the left of her belongs to a Dark Brotherhood assassin.

 

***

 

“Resdaynia is my spouse - my beautiful wife, my devoted husband. I courted him when I fought to be called the Hortator. I claimed her by the right of conquest, daring and enterprise, spilling my blood under the Red Mountain. We were wed in the heart of Mournhold, our marriage vows witnessed by the Law and the Land. No, I would never abandon Resdayn.”

“So, do you personify Morrowind as a male? Or a female?” Barenziah asks casually, as if not at all perturbed by Viriya’s bold declarations.

“Oh, Morrowind isn’t constrained by mortal genders”, Viriya smiles. “Just like our Princes”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100x3 according to Google Docs.
> 
> The second drabble takes place after Morrowind's mainquest but before the events of 'Tribunal' expansion; the third one is post-'Tribunal' and post-'Bloodmoon'.
> 
> [A collage illustration](https://78.media.tumblr.com/bc8fca0f1a4b7d427c4207774e0ed0cb/tumblr_inline_oxrwu6O4xz1s59aoz_540.png).


	2. Lost and Found

In the lands of her dreams even light, lacelike clouds and delicate apple blossoms whisper accusingly: “You have no right to be here, oath-breaker! How can you hope to find even a semblance of peace after you murdered your lord? Your loyal servant? He trusted you, loved you, cherished you, and yet you betrayed him!”

Viriya would be glad to escape and never come back, but she is hopelessly trapped, unable to throw off the shackles of guilt and longing.

Cold winter wind chants to her in a familiar voice: “I trusted you…”

And the Nerevarine - again - wakes up crying.

 

***

 

She does not allow herself to mourn in the morning - let sorrowful tears be banished by the rising sun! The Nerevarine has better things to do than to lament what was forever lost, even if her weak mortal heart is bleeding and the divine, holy Heart will never share its tantalizingly sweet Poison Song with her.

Viriya is not idle, never idle, for otherwise she would be swallowed whole by her crafty friends and sly allies. She still has some wars to wage, laws to change, challenges to face...

Her blade sings in silent fury.

Her deeds speak much louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A collage illustration](https://pp.userapi.com/c834300/v834300329/75d58/f0GXKLadRjk.jpg).


	3. “Cut off your hands”

“What a lovely ring you have, my lady! I always wondered: does it adjust its size to better accommodate the wearer? You see, I highly doubt that lord Nerevar had such elegant, slender fingers, so you must understand my honest confusion.”

Viriya pointedly looks at her hands: they are, unfortunately, not the “aristocratic”, long-fingered sort poets take such a great pleasure in writing about - they are small, with calluses on the palms and nails clipped so short some people find them slightly uncomfortable to look at; the fact that her fingernails almost stopped growing after she got corprus does work in Viriya’s favor, given this little habit of hers.

All in all, her hands are quite ordinary with the exception of the Moon-and-Star she wears openly.

“Would you like to try it on, muthsera?” Viriya asks, smiling encouragingly. “This would be the fastest and easiest way to confirm or deny all your theories.”

He refuses - all of them refuse, even those who do not believe in prophecies. It’s better to be safe than sorry (and probably dead), is it not?

And it is undoubtedly better to refrain from testing Azura’s patience.

Viriya doesn’t know whether the ring will kill any other person who tries to wear it, and she doesn’t care - the ever eluding truth is neither helpful nor necessary for her. She is a liar, after all, like any sweet little spy of the Empire should be, as well as anyone who decides to free themselves from Imperial clutches.

The rumors of her involvement with the Blades started circulating too early for Viriya’s liking; she highly suspects that it was an intentional leak. But she’s adaptable, like an Anvil dock rat she is - or one of those red cockroaches who roam damp cellars and shady alleys and can survive almost anything.

Viriya is adaptable and always eager to learn new things or to pick up new skills. She takes great pride in the fact that she doesn’t look out of place on this fancy Mournhold ball: for her, a lowborn outlander woman of mixed blood, it’s an achievement almost on par with defeating Dagoth Ur.

Hlaalu Viriya might not be canonically - or fashionably - beautiful, but she’s striking, in this particular way all self-assured and strong-willed women are striking. The Morrowind’s Hortator looks like the land she was chosen to protect - fire and ash, deceptively sweet smiles. She knows how to kill, and she has picked up plenty of useful skills over the years, but Viriya prefers poison, be it potions, or poisoned blades, or poisonous words. 

Even if the notes of the Poison Song don’t ring in her head anymore, the cursed poisoned blood is still running in her veins.

She stopped fighting it long ago, but she never  _ stops fighting _ . Her small-boned body looks almost delicate in this modest dress of fine yellow silk, but it’s a deadly weapon nevertheless - lean and muscular, with shoulders and arms used to a bow.

Viriya of Anvil is strong and adaptable, and that’s partly why everybody wants to use her, keeping her on a tight leash of ill-judged oaths and vulgar blackmail. They see her as a trained rat ready to follow their orders, and Viriya plays along, not wanting to be strangled, but one day she’ll find out how to escape. She won’t be merciful then - she’ll gladly tear their throats with her small rat teeth, bathing in fresh scarlet blood and drinking it with a smile on her lips.

Viriya has been slowly rewriting the story other people came up with for her, and her hands are always steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Viriya's portrait](http://herrdrosslemeyer.tumblr.com/image/172063544417) by [Herr Drosslemeyer](http://herrdrosslemeyer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
